Born From The Ashes
by Hitoezakura
Summary: Project on Warg’s OC Shishirou from “From The Ashes” for the OC Exchange – As the village smolders in the flames, a man’s childhood desire and thirst for revenge is finally revealed, allowing the new phoenix to emerge from the ashes of his father.


**DISCLAIMER – If I owned Rurouni Kenshin, don't you think I'd have enough money by now to buy the whole series? **

**I rest my case. **

**Unfortunately, I am also not the owner of Makoto Shishirou. He is the creation of the brilliant and talented mind of Warg. **

**WARNING – Before you read this fic, please read "From the Ashes" by Warg. Otherwise, you'll have no clue about what's going on (so I implore you to read it!). **

**Anyways this is a project for the OC Exchange. See WhiteRabbit Tale's "OC Exchange" Forum for extra details. Basically, each author submits an OC and then chooses another author's OC and creates a work about him/her. I received the honor of reading Warg's work and creating a piece about his original character Makoto Shishirou (I hope you recognized the last name! If not…I'd feel really depressed…) **

**This is a deviation of the story flow of "From The Ashes", containing spoilers for the seeing and enjoyment for the masses. It takes of after Chapter 4 where Shishirou rides away on his steed. **

**A special thank you to Warg for all of his support while I was writing this story! **

**Onwards! **

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**BORN FROM THE ASHES**

The wind screamed in his ears as he rode away from the forests that cloaked Sapporo, glancing back to see the hungry orange flames engulf the trees, the flames he had created with his own sword.

The flames that seared the flesh of a truly great warrior, one who had put his entire soul and being into his battles.

A man who was a great warrior, but had committed a crucial crime.

A man who had been unwilling to return to the past, return to his former identity as a Juppongatana.

A man killed by the offspring of his former leader, Makoto Shishio.

Upon catching a glimpse of the intoxicating flames he had created, Makoto Shishirou rode away on his hunter, embarking upon the road that would lead him to the demon city of Kyoto. As he flew past the clusters of trees alongside the trail, his thoughts ran rampant.

He had managed to contact the last of the Juppongatana, or was able to trace a method to contact them. Houji had committed suicide in his own cell rather than joining the government, and Shishirou respected the loyal man for that. Henya was under close guard since he was an important tool of the military and Kamatari was currently abroad on his assignment. They had abandoned Shishio, they were of no worth whatsoever, and Shishirou could not be the least bit bothered by the two tiny insects. However, Soujirou and Anji were valuable assets, and he had every intention of communicating his mission to them. Shishirou needed to do now was wait for Chou's acceptance or rejection of the task ahead. The final fire had been ignited; now he would match eyes with the traitor Chou, siphon his betrayal, retrieve his father's blade and lead the remaining Juppongatana to their goal - revenge. Chou was only useful as a puppet in the mission; he would receive the punishment he deserved for betraying Makoto Shishio and supporting his father's murderers.

He cast a fleeting look back and stared at the soft orange glow that managed to hover over the trees that separated him from Sapporo. The flames must have incinerated Fuji's enormous body by now. No matter how great a warrior Fuji was, in the end he was weak, while Shishirou had remained strong, as strong as he had been against his six childhood friends that fateful day in the village.

But strength was not enough to rid Shishirou's mind of the guilt that spread through him. It was not enough to block out the flames from his past, flames that had engulfed his mother and father, flames that held tortured screams of agony, pain, betrayal, and hatred. It was not enough to block out the sight of the stream of crimson blood that spilled from Fuji's fatal wounds. It was not enough to block out the sounds of Fuji's agony and pain, the horrible gasps of asphyxiation, gasps that desperately searched for air. Perhaps that was what coaxed Shishirou to end Fuji's agony and drive his sword into the giant's chest, ending the man's life forever.

Yet not one man had thought of giving his own father the same mercy. The brutality of the Ishin Shishi leaders displayed their lack of humanity. Shishirou's mind filled with hatred and disgust as he replayed the hideous conditions his father was subjected to. The bullets grazing the skin, itching to rip through the flesh. The stench of gasoline, putrid, contaminating the clean air of the night. The flames that seared and destroyed the flesh of one of their own comrades.

Not one of those leaders regretted their actions. Not one of them granted mercy to their previous comrade. Not one of them considered that the man they had so brutally tried to murder had a family, a wife who loved him with all her heart, a son who had never truly known his father. They were monsters, they had disregarded humanity, and they had committed an atrocious act of treachery towards one of their own comrades.

And that was enough to give Shishirou the strength he needed. His hatred was fueled by the horrendous events that forever ended any possibility of the bond he had always longed for.

Shishirou grinned laconically to himself as he halted his Hunter and dismounted nearby a small stream, eager to drink the cool water and quench his parched throat.

One more person would have to answer to Shishirou's demands, and Saizuchi and Iwanbou would gladly assist that person in the mission Shishirou had carefully planned for that treacherous fool. Then Shishirou would make sure he departed from the world with a death as painful as his father's had been. Only Anji and Soujirou remained to be contacted, and that time approaching rapidly.

Only then would the destined time come.

The sun began to dip below the horizon, entering a deep sleep that would last for about eight hours before awakening to bring a new morning. However, despite the loss of the sun, despite the lack of stars or a moon, the sky was still illuminated by a faint orange glow emanating from the forests near the village of Sapporo.

Shishirou brushed the hair from his rust-red orbs, orbs that glowed like the color of blood in the dim light. He approached the stream and stared at his reflection, slightly wavering in the water as a gentle wind blew along the stream and caused numerous ripples in the calm water.

He grinned as he stared down at the rippling stream. It was so calm a moment before, but single wind had disturbed that calm front. To him, it resembled Japan and the fate of the country.

So what would multiple winds inflict upon Japan?

He knew the answer. The answer laid in his mission, a mission he would now accomplish for the sake of his father, his mother, and the little boy inside of him, one who hungered to understand and know his father and his ideals, he would follow in his father's footsteps. He would enter the world of his father and avenge the man who deserved the recognition and justice he had not received in his own lifetime.

And perhaps then the child within him would be satisfied, would be able to understand the father that he had barely seen, the father that the Ishin Shishi leaders had taken away from him. Of course the means to achieving this understanding seemed detrimental and cruel, but that was exactly what the Ishin Shishi had done to their own comrades. The Sekihotai, brutally murdered and displayed as traitors so that the Ishin Shishi could remain in good standing. The poor populace, promised tax cuts but then had their hopes crushed when the Ishin Shishi failed to deliver. And Shishirou's father, the top Ishin Shishi shadow assassin, almost tortured to death so that the Ishin Shishi would never have to answer to him.

No, this cruelty was necessary. Shishirou knew that he would never be able to suppress the feelings of guilt upon murdering people he encountered, but the cruelty his father endured gave him enough strength to continue this mission.

A mission which would result in the death of all those who had betrayed his father, had partaken in the murder of Makoto Shishio, had separated a father from a child who yearned to see his father those many years ago.

As he stared at his reflection, one could loom above him and see the most startling, astonishing, and perhaps frightening sight of all. The eyes were the same, the determination was the same, the goal was the same. Shishirou was the very reflection of the man who had died mere weeks ago.

His eyes had glowed the color of blood. So did Shishirou's.

He wanted revenge on the Ishin Shishi, the patriots. So did Shishirou.

He wanted to massacre the men that stood in the path of the justice he deserved. So did Shishirou; justice for both his father and for the child within him.

The stream was a mirror, displaying the reflection of the father in the son. Their motives were different, their emotions as they executed their actions were different, but a mirror would never be able to reflect that.

Not that it mattered.

Makoto Shishirou was unearthing the past at that very moment. The remaining Juppongatana were being rounded up. The fires were blazing in Kyoto, marking the countdown to the justice and reward his father deserved all those years ago. And the last fire, the fire of the small village of Sapporo, had been ignited. The countdown was complete.

He was the son of Makoto Shishio. Eyes of blood, hunger for strength and power, thirst for vengeance, all were the same. Like a phoenix, one had died in the flames, but another was born of the ashes that the flames and carcass had left behind.

Only a barrier of one remained before the last single fire in the deadly countdown would die.

And then he would rise from the depths of the shadows and achieve his vengeance, his justice, his repayment from the men who had separated father and child. Blizzards of blood, carcasses, death, and agonizing screams would fill the air before he could achieve the goal he treasured, the reward his father had deserved. But it would be achieved. The destined time was approaching amidst the flames and thick clouds of smoke, amidst the blood and death, amidst the pain and cries of the weak.

After all, Makoto Shishirou was the newborn phoenix.

He was the son born from the ashes.

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End file.
